Bound By The Pen
by Covetedoutcomes
Summary: Eli Goldsworthy is a seventeen year old at a juvenile correctional facility, serving time for a crime he accidentally committed. When he's paired up with a pen pal during the last three weeks of his sentence, will he be able to open up and allow someone new into his heart? What will happen when the two unexpectedly find themselves face to face when he leaves the center? [hiatus]
1. The First Letter

**I was inspired to write this story after two friends of mine started a plot on their AU floater accounts on Tumblr. It had the pen pal element to it, so I'd have to say that spurred this whole concept. I feel the need to give credit where credit is due. But, I took my plot in an entirely different direction, making it so Eli is guilty of a crime, however unintentional it was. What was the crime? You'll find out in chapters to come. Each chapter will contain one letter, and will shift perspectives between Eli and Clare. This story might also have a rating change as the chapters go on, depending. **

**I've blabbed enough, enjoy. And please, if you have any critiques, don't be afraid to review it. I really love getting feedback and opinions on my writing to improve, so it would be greatly appreciated.**

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The springs in the bed kept pressing into Eli's back, adding to the minor case of scoliosis he had. He could only blame himself, as he'd spent the better part of his life hunched over in front of a TV, playing video games for hours on end. He had deemed it a decent way of living, using his gaming as a mini escape from the everyday, the mundane. Most of all, the bullies. The minute he'd get home after having run from his school, all the way to his home, he'd settle down in front of his Nintendo 64. There, nothing could chase him, batter him, or belittle him. For once, he managed to be in control of what happened, and that sated his need for control. That is, until things escalated to a point he couldn't have predicted.

He turned around, letting out a small groan of annoyance as one of the springs poked into his back uncomfortably. The time spent in between the four walls was beginning to become taxing to him. Though he could admit that life at home was hell, being wrongfully accused of a crime he certainly had no intention of committing was worse. The memories of the day it all came to pass were still fresh in his mind.

The punch to his gut that started it all. The slew of curse words spilling from his lips.

The swing of his fist to the side of Mike's face that decided it all.

Shooing the thoughts away, Eli once again turned, listening as the mattress squeaked beneath him. It was a quiet day, which wasn't usual in the center, but he cherished it while it lasted. A knocking at the side of his door shook him from his thoughts.

"Hey, Eli." his mentor said, peeking his head into the door that had been left ajar.

Eli sat up from his bed, a hand lifting to his neck to rub out the kink that had been created. "Yeah?" he replied, mild annoyance in his tone.

His mentor, formally known as Jack, was holding an envelope. "I know you're leaving in three weeks, give or take, but we included you in the anonymous pen pal event." With that, he handed Eli an envelope with the return address scribbled out thoroughly. He eyed it blankly, somehow not expecting to truly get a letter from anyone. The idea of corresponding with anyone at all was becoming foreign to him after being away for nearly a year, never mind by post.

"Here." he persisted, thrusting it gently into his hand, offering him a smile. "You've made a lot of progress, Eli. Let this be a little treat in the meanwhile. You'll be home soon."

The words made a chill run up Eli's spine, as he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to return home so soon. Too many skeletons locked up in that metaphorical closet of a town he'd left. Too many what ifs for his old life, and too many uncertainties about what would come. It set him on edge to dwell on it, so he decided not to.

With a nod of thanks, Jack returned the gesture and left, leaving Eli to the usual quietness of his room. His attention returned to the envelope, his eyes skimming over the clear writing on the front of it. The address of the center was printed in blue ink, curvy letters with curly ends adorning it. It was clearly a girl's hand that had written it, and the thought of speaking to any girl almost made him ache. After everything he'd gone through, he didn't know if he had it in him to speak to another again, at least so soon.

But a pen pal wasn't a commitment, nor was it an obligation. It could end any time he wanted, or she wanted. The latter made him feel uneasy, and this was before he could even open the damned thing and read the contents.

His fingers tore at the side of the envelope, opening up one end of it to slide the folded letter out. It was a single page, one sided. With curious eyes, he opened the folded paper, holding it out before him so he could read it.

_Dear Stranger,_

_It's rather odd to be writing that. Actually, it's rather odd to be writing a letter at all. It's the technological age, shouldn't we be emailing or texting? I'm being facetious, but I can honestly say this is refreshing. I haven't written a letter since I was…ten, maybe? Perhaps even younger. _

_I'm going on a bit of a tangent, aren't I? You must forgive me for that, as I do it often. But you don't even know who I am, do you? I should probably fill you in on all the necessary but boring details of myself._

Already Eli's eyes were rolling at this girl's inability to stay on a subject, or rather, stay on the subject at hand. He found it endearing nonetheless. He skimmed over it, glad to see that he hadn't even covered three quarters of it yet.

_I'm Clare. I'd give my last name, but for some reason I was told not to? I'll just chalk that up to the fact that we're strangers. Anyway, I'm Clare. I'm sixteen years old, and in grade ten. I suppose letting you know why I'm writing to you would also be helpful, yes? I'm in a youth group at church, and we're always doing little community service or charity projects. It's all volunteer based of course, but when this project was mentioned, I knew I wanted to do it. To write to a troubled youth in a juvenile correctional facility, to gain a better knowledge of what life is like for someone else. And, perhaps to make their day a little brighter, if I can. I've always liked the idea of having a pen pal, even if I've never actually given it a shot. So, stranger I'm writing to, I'm honored to be your pen pal for however long you'd like. _

_Maybe it'd be good to throw in a few more details, so we have more to discuss. I'll just run down the generic list of getting-to-know-you facts. I was born in April. April 9th. My favorite colour is periwinkle. I know, I know. Bizarre and very specific favourite to have, but it is. I'm 5'3 and a half. My favorite food is yogurt, strawberry to be specific. As far as academics go, I'd have to say I'm a dedicated, straight A student. English and literature studies comes the most easily to me. I'd have to say that I actually have a very strong passion for writing. I'm thinking about pursuing a career in Journalism. I know I must sound overly ambitious, seeing as though it's a competitive field, but it's my hope to make it._

_In the way of family, I live with my mom and dad, and I have an older sister. She lived with us until she moved to Kenya, to do some work building schools and such for underprivileged children. I look up to her so much, you couldn't imagine. And I miss her terribly, my goodness. It's been a couple years since we've seen each other, but we talk as frequently as we can, at least once a week. _

_I've written quite a bit so far! My goodness, I can just go on and on sometimes, I hope you don't mind. I guess I should wrap this up though. I have to leave some things to the imagination, don't I? _

_I can't wait to hear from you, Mystery Pen Pal. Please do tell me your name when you reply, so I can stop referring to you as that. And feel free to include any and all facts about yourself that you want. As you can clearly tell, I did. _

_Until next time!_

_Clare_

Beside her name sat the tiniest heart. Eli couldn't help but hang on it for a moment, a fond expression painting his features as he stared at it. Snapping himself out of his reverie, he placed the letter down on his bed carefully, reaching down into his drawer for his notebook. He tore a piece of paper out from it, then ripping off the loose edges, tossing them in the trash near his bed.

After snatching a pen off his table, Eli got to work on his reply to this girl, Clare. This girl who, for whatever reason, thought it wise to write to a juvenile detention center inmate. He could already tell that they were worlds apart, both physically and mentally, but that didn't deter him. As he began writing, he wore a grin, something he couldn't say had graced his features genuinely in quite some time.

He only hoped it would have something worthwhile to say, and that she would deem him worthy enough to keep writing with. It could be enough to carry him through the last few weeks, he realized. That alone was enough inspiration to put pen to paper once more, not to write and vent, but to speak. To actually speak to another person, however anonymous it was. Reading over her _"Until next time!"_ was more than enough inspiration to begin writing furiously, the promise of continual correspondence looming large for him.


	2. Room To Breathe

**I'm hoping whoever's reading this likes it so far, and I'm so very, very content with the reviews I got! Thank you so much for taking the time out to read this. It means a lot.**

**This chapter is from Clare's perspective, and it gives a little glimpse into her home life. Enjoy! And reviews are always appreciated!**

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A small chill crept through Clare's body, seeping into her bones slowly. The living room was usually the coldest one in the entire house, despite the abundance of windows letting in sunlight. She wound her arms about her own torso, attempting to hold herself and warm her body. It seemed futile at best, but she still kept at it for comfort if nothing else.

So far it had been a quiet afternoon spent mostly alone, her father out at work and her mother running an event at their church. Though she had been invited to tag along, Clare was glad that she'd turned the offer down. There was a certain quietness in her house that could be found when she was the only inhabitant. Her family was just a cluster of three, but as of late, it seemed her parents alone were enough to make the home sound fully occupied.

She was grateful for these little bits of peace, these tiny chances to breathe.

With her legs stretched out across the length of the couch, Clare let out a long yawn, her feet poking outwards as she did. Her head jerked to attention as a pitter pattering was heard outside, a pair of feet approaching her door. Just as quickly as they had come, they were already gone again, Clare registering it as the mailman. Before now, she'd never taken a strong interest in the post. The technological age had taken her as a victim, nearly ruining her chances of ever experiencing the elation of a received letter.

Now she understood the appeal of the wait. The build up of the anticipation, and the fact that not everything in life required instant gratification. Perhaps the fact that no immediate satisfaction could be found was what fueled her impatience for it even more.

She hopped off the couch and onto her carpeted floor, her bare feet making contact with the fuzzy material. Stepping outside briefly, Clare snatched the bundle of mail from the box, then coming back inside.

"Junk mail, bill, bill, flyer..." she mumbled to herself, sifting through the uninteresting assortment. For a moment she thought the return letter hadn't come, that she would have to wait another day or worse, they never wrote her back. A churning in her stomach indicative of rejection began in the pit of her stomach until she spotted it with further inspection, a smile adorning her face at once. Picking it up off the table, she carried it with her into her room, then seating herself at her desk.

Her address and the address it came from were in two different sets of handwriting, for security purposes, she assumed. But in that top lefthand corner sat a name that she wouldn't soon forget. Eli Goldsworthy. That was the name of her pen pal, Eli. At once a warmth filled her, already pleased with the response though all she had was his name so far.

To stop herself from jumping the gun any further, Clare didn't delay opening up the letter any longer. She ripped it open gingerly from the center, sliding her finger under so as to loosen it without risking any damage to the letter itself. Once she was face to face with it, she sucked in a shallow breath, attempting to prepare for whatever was written on the sheet of paper.

_Dear Stranger, otherwise known as Clare,_

_I felt the need to begin my letter in the same way you did, as the word 'stranger' holds more meaning than just knowing another person's name. I'm of the mind that if you're still a mystery to me, you're still a stranger. Therefore, the title is fitting. I am glad to know your name though, just so we have that context to work off of._  
_I sound awfully formal, don't I? I'd have to say I haven't written out an actual letter to be mailed to someone in a long time. This is a pleasant surprise; I wasn't expecting to receive one of these._

_So here's where the always awkward but mostly beneficial intro fits in, yes? I'm atrocious at describing myself, but I'll give it my best shot. My full name is Elijah Goldsworthy, but Eli works just fine. I understand that you can't give your last name, but there's very little harm in giving mine. I don't think you have ulterior motives, or do you? Only time will tell, and I'm willing to take my chances for the sake of honesty._

Already Clare's face was lit up like a Christmas tree, thoroughly enjoying this boy's ramblings and witty commentary. Though anyone else might have felt iffy reading a letter from someone in juvenile hall, Clare's bleeding heart tendencies were kicking in with a vengeance. She always tried her hardest to see only the good in people, and in her opinion, usually more good existed than bad. Though she knew next to nothing about this mysterious penpal, her curiosity was already piqued. Not much could turn her away at this point. Skimming over what she'd just read, Clare continued on.

_I know it would make sense to explain to you why I'm even in a juvenile detention center, in the first place because you're probably wondering. But I'll refrain for two reasons. The first, I absolutely hate talking about it, though you could have guessed that. The second, I like keeping people on their toes. Not to scare them, only to amuse myself. Keeping you in the dark on this could prove to be beneficial until we know one another better. I'd hate to chase you off when you seem so genuinely nice._

_Onto facts then. Again, I'm Eli. Seventeen years old. If I were to list my hobbies, I'd only have two on the list. Writing and thinking. They tend to go hand in hand, no? If I'd been attending school for the past nine months or so, I would have been in grade eleven. From what I know right now, when I do return, I'll be stuck in grade ten once more. Woe is me._

_The way you phrased the "troubled youth" thing struck me. So I'm quite literally a charity case to you? Clare, don't speak to me to get on god's good side or to feel like you're fulfilling your religious duty. I'd rather not be treated like a project, you could find plenty of other guys here who would prefer that. I'm not trying to come off as gruff, but I don't need or want to be saved. I hope that's not your intent in this._

For the first time since she'd begun reading the letter, her face dropped. Did he really believe that she saw him in such a light? Thinking back to her letter, she supposed she could see where he could have gotten that from, though it wasn't her goal whatsoever. She made a mental note to address that in her reply.

_In any event, you sound like a bright girl, and I admire your passion for Journalism. As I said before, my interests lie heavily in writing, so I can identify with that love for the written word entirely. Literature and writing are the only two things that help me keep my sanity here._

_Ah, so your sister is a bleeding heart charity worker like you? I'm half kidding, please don't take offense. I haven't gotten a chance to exercise my humor muscle in a long time, no doubt it's rusty. As for the small facts you listed, I'll return with some of my own. My favorite color is maroon, I'm 5'6, and I have a penchant for pizza. Any kind, any kind at all. I'm not picky. In the way of academics, I'm...not the best student, ha. I'm not the worst at all, I suppose I just suffer from a lack of motivation. In English classes, I flourish. In most others, my head above water, but just barely. We all have our strong suits, and I guess I just happen to stick with mine._

_As far as my family goes, I live(d) with my parents. I'm an only child, much to my delight. We get along well, quite well in comparison to how I see others interact with their parents. I guess you could say we're friends more than anything, and that keeps any tensions about parent/son relations from getting in the way. They've given me a lot of trust over the years. Most of it was well deserved and beneficial, other parts of it...not so much._

_I see I went on quite the rant there, so I best stop myself before I go overboard. I'm really happy to be writing with you, Clare. This was a small bit of sunshine in my otherwise cloudy and downcast existence. As melodramatic as that may sound, I mean it, and I hope you'll want to continue writing. Tell me anything about yourself that you want when you reply. Your favorite scent, what your clothing style is like, if you eat your ice cream in a cone or a cup and why, your favorite place, I want to know it all. You're an enigma to me, and I'm hungry for knowledge to quell my curiosity._

_I hope you have a great day, Clare. I'll be anxiously awaiting your reply._

_Eli._

The smile that graced Clare's features couldn't be beaten down, not even when she heard her parents walk in the door, already stirring up another pointless argument. She was absorbed in Eli's charismatic words, and so very taken by how interested he seemed in her. Before this moment, Clare had felt alone, absolutely alone in the chaos of her home life. There was no breathing room, and hardly a form of escape for her. But this, this was an avenue for her to express herself in. This was a way to distract herself from the troublesome times, and throw her mind into the world of this boy. This very mysterious, thoughtful, and entrancing boy. Nothing could deter her now. As she put pen to paper for her reply, she let her own musings drown out the sound of her mom's yells and her father's curses echoing through the house. Her attention was consumed indefinitely, lost in her own words as she replied to him.


	3. When It Faded To Black

**The reviews I've gotten so far have been lovely, thank you again for reading! I'm growing quite attached to this story as I'm slowly fleshing Eli and Clare out. In coming chapters, you'll start to seeing more characters as well. This chapter is from Eli's perspective, and you'll gain some clarity on why he's in a juvenile detention center in the first place. This is a lengthier chapter, and I'm beginning to think they'll get a smidgen longer as I go along. **

**As always, reviews are so very, very appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!**

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_"What did you __**do**__ to him?!" a man's voice screams, fury mixed with concern in his tone. _

_"I-I didn't..." Eli stutters, unable to string together a coherent sentence as he looks to his hands, trembling and painted the color of blood. Or was it actually the blood of another man splattered across his knuckles? It was hard to tell in his unhinged state._

_"He's unconscious!" the man yells, Eli finally recognizing him as a teacher at the school. He looks around the hallway that just a moment ago had been entirely empty aside from him and a certain bully that had a penchant for antagonizing him. _

_A crowd begins to form, their eyes shifting between Eli and the bloody, battered boy lying on the floor. He is unmoving, Eli isn't even sure if he has a pulse, or if he had knocked the life out of him. At once he could practically hear the judgements they were making, reading them clear as day as if they were written on their faces. _

_'That kid was going to snap one day, he had it coming.'_

_'Didn't know he had it in him, good luck in jail, buddy.' _

_'Little piece of shit thinks he can throw a punch, wait and see till ten of his friends get him in an alley.'_

_But Eli had heard it all. Every insult, every snide remark. Every little word that was intended to break his spirit, and somehow was succeeding in that very act. Mike had had it coming, but Eli couldn't have anticipated it so soon, or that he would be the deliverer of the blow. _

_Retreating until his back hits a locker, he trembles his head in terror as the nurse tries to shake Mike awake, to no avail. He is now sure he has killed him. Though he didn't realize he could put so much force behind his hit, there he is, clear as day bleeding on the floor in a way that almost looks artistic. Purposeful. In a morbid sense. A tortured scene that perhaps a turn of the century artist may approve of. _

_"Why did you swing at him?" the teacher questions, pelting him with the accusation. _

_"He was throwing punches at me! I got tired of running away!" Eli answers honestly, his voice shaking with adrenaline. _

_"You're supposed to go to the principal about that, let us help you."_

_"I did and no one cared! In one ear, out the other. I said I was getting harassed on a daily basis, in and out of school, and you all turned the other cheek. It was either this or hang myself." He swallows the lump in his throat, noting how dry his mouth has become at his sudden confession. Yes, that had been on his mind. A week or two more of the relentless bullying would have done Eli Goldsworthy in, that was for sure. For so long he'd dealt with every punch, attempted to outsmart him, and hoped against hope that somehow the torture would end. With this final day, he'd lost his patience, unable to handle the pressure anymore. _

_At this, the teacher doesn't say anything, simply gritting his teeth and grabbing the sleeve of Eli's shirt, pulling him away from the scene. _

_The last thing he sees before being pulled around the corner of the hall is Mike stirring, and his mouth moving, trying to say something. "My eyes...I can't see..."_

With a start, Eli woke from his sleep, a sweaty sheen coating his skin. It wasn't a new nightmare; it was something he had stuck in his consciousness regularly, the details of the day only becoming more clear with each time he involuntarily revisited it. A chill ran through him, finally getting a hold of himself enough to sit up.

Hugging his body, he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the light. It must have been early evening, he assumed. Earlier in the day his fatigue had gotten the best of him, making him feel as though napping would be the best idea. Immediately he was regretting it, now plagued with the lingering thoughts as a result.

Running his hand over his face, Eli sighed in discontent, then looking around his room. On the small counter beside his bed lay an envelope. The sight alone made his heart skip a beat, the letter serving as a small silver lining to the bad day he'd been having. Snatching it up off the counter, he eagerly opened it.

Clare's handwriting was starting to become familiar to him, a small comfort in the terrible situation he found himself in. Though it hardly made being in juvie worth it, he had to admit that he enjoyed the discussion they'd shared so far, and hoped he hadn't made a terrible impression on her with his reply.

He began looking over the paper, her scrawl soothing him at once even before he gained comprehension on what any of it said.

_Fine, I'll play along. Dear stranger named Eli, _

_You're being awfully thoughtful about the meaning behind this word, aren't you? I'd be willing to say you're completely over-thinking it, but to each their own. I feel we were strangers until the moment we traded names and a few facts. Now I've gained an understanding of you, and I'd like to build off of it. Simply casting me aside as a stranger almost makes this feel temporary, and although it probably is, I wish it wasn't. But um, I'm ranting now, I'll stop. _

_I really like the name Elijah. It rolls off the tongue quite nicely, but I'll stick with Eli since you seem like you're partial to that. I can assure you, no hidden motives here. Simply a girl on a mission to brighten your days. I hope I'm succeeding even a little right now. _

Eli shook his head, a small grin on his face. Of course she was brightening his day, especially after the shitty, repetitive nightmare he'd had. He could barely even believe the relief that washed over him the moment he saw the letter there.

_I suppose I can understand why you wouldn't want to disclose that information, though I'll admit your second reason does have my curiosity piqued. (And it leaves me slightly on edge, but I digress.) I don't think you could chase me off though. There's surely very little harm in corresponding through letters, right? Whatever got you where you are, it matters not. I have faith that you're working to atone for your wrongdoings, and make something more of yourself. It might be too soon to say, but I feel as though you have a pure heart, and a kind one as well. You're probably thinking I wouldn't truly know, right?_

Pausing, Eli grinned, silently nodding to himself. What would she know, truly? Though his crime certainly hadn't been as bad as some of his other fellow inmates, (not to mention the fact that it was entirely unintentional.) he couldn't say that he harbored a "pure" or "kind" heart. If anything, the whole experience had hardened him to a degree he thought he wasn't even capable of, a strong bitterness for his own past and for those in authority brewing within him. In his eyes, his school had failed him by refusing to help make the environment a safer place for him when he all but begged for help. And he failed himself by getting into such a position, fighting back after such a long time spent taking the punches and trying to ignore the insults. It seemed in the end, he was still being punished for something he hadn't meant to do. The joke was on him, and the guilt of blinding his aggressor wouldn't let up. Anyone else could see that Eli clearly had a heart, simply because of the extent to which he felt the guilt. But to him, it meant very little, merely a side effect of time spent behind bars. His life already felt wasted, a year and a half down the drain with a grim outlook on the future at hand.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he returned to the letter, picking up where he left off.

_Well I couldn't disagree more, but you go ahead and think what you like. From what I can gather about you, you're probably as stubborn as a mule, and won't listen to reason. Yet again, more assumptions, but I doubt you can deny that one. _

With a wide grin, Eli chuckled, seeing the truth in her words at once. Already she seemed to be getting a grasp on him, and he appreciated how perceptive she was, even through text.

_Writing and thinking truly are one in the same, but the latter tends to land you in more trouble than the former. Or at least that's how it is for me. If I give myself too much time to dwell, if anyone does, it isn't always pretty. But that's where writing comes in, right? It's an escape like no other, and I'm really happy to see that we share that passion. I can really level with you on that. Oh, so you're a year ahead of me, technically at least. I'm in grade ten currently. Poor you, having to repeat. But it might be best, since you did miss a large chunk of time. It could turn out well, you never know. _

_Oh Eli, no. Not at all, I'm so sorry you thought that. My phrasing was horrible, I'm seeing that now as you explain it to me. You're not a charity case, nor am I doing this to win brownie points with the Lord, so-to-speak. No...I just, I don't know. I've always wanted a pen pal, perhaps that's all this boils down to. I...get lonely, you know? I do have friends, but they're always busier than I am and I find myself with too many gaps of time for my liking. Writing these has made me feel a lot better, as strange as that may sound. I hope I'm not coming off as overbearing in saying that, because we could stop anytime you like. But, I really enjoy talking to you through these letters so far, and it's definitely not for any reason other than I like it. I hope you believe me, because I'm being sincere. _

_I'd imagine that passing the time would be rough whilst there. What kinds of things do you write? Poetry? Narrative? A bit of both? What genres? A lot of questions, I know. I'm just very enthused that we have this in common; none of my friends like writing in the same way I do. It's nice to know I'm not the only one. _

_Indeed it is rusty, I didn't find a shred of humor in your words, but I'll let it slide this time. She does work for the greater good, she's my inspiration every day to be kind and patient. I can't say I feel that way about anyone else, so that counts for something, right?_

Through everything Clare said, Eli could really tell that she cared. She was a very rare form of human being that felt such strong empathy, and possessed such a big heart that at times, it seemed she didn't even know what to do with it. It was something Eli greatly admired, his chest warming up comfortably even at the thought of her and her kind spirit. It was such a great contrast to his.

_Pizza is wonderful, excellent choice, sir. And yes, I can really see that English would be your strong suit, what with your vocabulary. (Which is leaving me floored, by the way.) I'm willing to bet you have tons of capability in your other subjects, but like you said, it comes down to motivation. Perhaps one day you'll find it in you to throw yourself into them? I think I try equally hard in all of my classes, though I will admit that I enjoy English the most. My teacher is just absolutely astounding. She's inspirational, and always knows how to help me out of a writing block. I think everyone should have a teacher like her once in their lives. I think she's really changing me, helping to better me as a person and a writer. That must sound so cheesy. Don't mind me. _

_Hm, I used to wonder what it was like being an only child, until Darcy left. Now I really do feel like an only child, and it's awfully lonely. I don't know how you can stand it, though if you're used to not having someone around, it's understandable. It sounds like you and your parents have a good bond, even if it is a little unconventional. Whatever works, really. Oh, did they give you too much trust with something? Did something bad happen to you? That was too prying, my goodness. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, I apologize. _

_I definitely do want to keep writing, I'm actually really relieved to see you wrote that. I was nervous that you would have grown tired of me already. Goodness, those are some thought provoking questions, surprisingly insightful too. Well, my favorite scent I think would be a tie between my vanilla perfume and the scent of my Aunt's house. It's a mixture of coffee and cigarettes. Now, I'm no smoker and the thought even grosses me out, but the scent is very mild in her home, very overpowered by the coffee. I've been used to that scent since I was little, and I suppose it just comes as a comfort to me. My clothing style? I'd describe it as comfy trendy. I love wearing dresses with tights, some sweaters to go over it. Anything floral immediately catches my eye; I adore flowers. I eat my ice cream in a cup because I'm a klutz and know better than to trust myself with a cone. That last question is stumping me, my favorite place. I'd say my room but that's cliche, and not true at all. Is it corny if I say the library is? I just feel so at ease there, and I love walking through the stacks, picking books at random and breathing them in. I'm so bizarre, I know. _

But to him, she wasn't. To him, she was already painting this beautiful, almost unbelievable picture of herself, and he knew it was all genuine by the way she phrased it. Eli longed to know someone like Clare for the greater part of his life. To know that someone like her existed out there came as a great comfort, one he found himself incapable of taking for granted.

_Eli, even the way you strung those words together gave me chills, you must be an extraordinary writer. I feel the same way about you, I mean, you know what I mean, at least I hope you do. There I go rambling again. _

_I want to give you some questions back, because I can admit that I'm so very curious about you. Alright, here goes. Do you prefer pens or pencils? Do you drive? How do you feel about visiting the dentist? What's your favorite month and why? Do you prefer falling asleep or waking up? And what's one of your favorite song lyrics?_

_I must say, knowing you enjoy this as well comes as a great comfort to me, more than you probably understand. I hope you're having a good day, Eli. I can't wait to hear from you._

_Clare_

It couldn't be said that he wasn't having a good day at all before her letter, but after, his mood had improved drastically. Eli quickly got to work on his reply, his pen speeding across the crisp white paper with the simplest of ease, every word to Clare coming out of him effortlessly. As if he was writing to an old friend, or his other half.

Every bit of him wished that she was.


End file.
